by Lyn Cote
“You may do that, then,” Lirit cut in. “And I shall call you—” the woman paused, giving her a taunting look “—Mrs. Foolhardy.”
“Lirit,” Dacian cautioned her in a low voice.
Mrs. Ransford lifted her chin, unrepentant.
Oddly the unmasking of the woman’s hostility steadied Verity. “Thee may call me Verity or Mrs. Hardy or whatever thee thinks best, Mrs. Ransford,” Verity said with dignity. “Won’t thee please come into the parlor?”
“Ladies,” Dacian said, and motioned for them to precede him. Soon they were all seated in the parlor—the Ransfords on the sagging sofa and Verity with Beth on the worn love seat across from them. The Barnesworth parlor was a mix of tattered upholstered furniture, Chippendale and primitive pieces obviously crafted by a local woodworker. A stiff silence settled over them. Beth didn’t even fidget.
Help me, Lord. Verity cleared her throat. “Today may be a holiday new to thee.”
“Yes, it is, ma’am,” Dacian said.
“We’ve never celebrated Yankee holidays,” Mrs. Ransford said, her low opinion of such things evident in her arrogant tone. She sneered when she looked around at the dilapidated parlor. The wallpaper was faded and peeling in places.
Verity had itched to do some upkeep on it, but she was here to teach and begin God’s work of healing, not to strip wallpaper and paint walls. Please, Matthew, come help me. Thee knows these people. I don’t. Verity tried again, saying, “We are one nation again and so Virginians can celebrate Thanksgiving also.”
Mrs. Ransford sniffed.
“I believe that we can all agree that having the war ended at last is something to celebrate,” Verity ventured, her misgivings over issuing this invitation expanding moment by moment.
“Yes, ma’am. I take it that you are a widow,” Dacian said, obviously trying to make conversation.
Her throat convulsed, but she forced out, “Yes, my husband fell at the Second Battle of Bull Run.”
“I believe we called that the Second Battle at Manassas,” Dacian said.
Mrs. Ransford’s face flushed. “I lost my only brother in that battle.” She glared at Verity. “Maybe your husband killed Geoffrey.”
The woman’s bald words snapped Verity’s composure, her hand itching to slap Lirit’s sneering face.
“Who can tell who shot whom in the midst of a battle,” Dacian said solemnly. “I try not to think of all the men I killed.”
His grave words sluiced over Verity like a bucket of icy water. Pain spiraled through her, bringing tears. The four years of the war had been the worst of her life. She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “The war was horrible. That’s why I invited thee here today. The war must end. Healing must begin.”
“Yes,” the man agreed.
Beth looked back and forth between the two women. “Who did my papa kill? Who’s Geoffrey?”
Not looking at Lirit, Verity wiped her eyes and patted Beth’s hand. “Thee must not take all we say at face value. No one knows how or why Mrs. Ransford’s brother fell in battle but God.”
Mrs. Ransford had conscience enough to look abashed. “I didn’t mean anything bad about your father, little girl.”
Verity took advantage of the shift in this proud woman’s tone. “I’ve been wanting to get to know the women of this town. Are there any ladies’ sewing groups or mission societies here?”
Mrs. Ransford’s face lifted in an unhappy mix of smugness and derision. “I’m hosting the next meeting of the Daughters of the Confederacy Monday next at three in the afternoon. I’m sure you would be welcomed with open arms.” Thick sarcasm oozed from every word, her face smug and condescending.
Verity swallowed a hasty retort, holding on to her patience. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. But love always triumphed over evil if one held on. Christ had won the victory over sin and death by holding on in the face of cruel mocking, torture and the cross.
The memory of the fire just days ago had finally convinced Verity that some in Fiddlers Grove would not hesitate to hurt her if they could get away with it. Still, she must do what she thought God had called her to do. It was possible that Lirit Ransford could help her with her personal mission—the meeting she was hosting could prove the perfect opportunity, as strange as that might seem. “Thank you, Mrs. Ransford, for the kind invitation.”
The woman opened her mouth, but Matthew appeared in the entrance to the parlor, sparing Verity from further insult. Both Ransfords stared at him. He was dressed in his Sunday clothes and looked very handsome. Joy and uncertainty clashed within Verity as she rose to greet him.
“Matthew, I’m so glad thee has come.”
“I wouldn’t miss dinner.” Matthew strode into the room and halted in front of his cousin. “I see you came to celebrate Thanksgiving with us.” Matthew’s wry tone nearly matched Mrs. Ransford’s mocking words.
Oh, dear. What have I done? Verity realized her fingernails were digging into her own flesh.
Dacian met Matthew’s gaze but gave no indication of sentiment for or against his cousin.
Hannah stomped down the hall to the parlor entrance. “Dinner’s ready.”
Verity wished Hannah wouldn’t make her negative opinion quite so evident. Completely devoid of appetite, she rose. “Won’t thee please come to the dining room?”
Joseph appeared in the hall, carrying the platter with the golden-brown roast turkey. “Hello, hello,” he greeted the guests, nodding them into the dining room across the hall. Joseph set the platter in the middle of the table, laid with the Barnesworth chipped china and a centerpiece of fall leaves and acorns that Beth had gathered. Then Joseph shook hands with Dacian and bowed to his wife.
Soon Joseph had everyone seated and he offered grace. Verity could only be grateful for Joseph’s imperturbable cheerfulness. The delicious aromas seemed to affect everyone. Mrs. Ransford almost smiled while Joseph carved. The dishes passed from hand to hand while Joseph entertained them with the story of the merry chase the flock of wild turkeys had led him on.
As she listened to the story, Verity kept one eye on Matthew. He said not a word but twice looked at his pocket watch. Why? She took her first mouthful of creamy mashed potatoes. And then a knock came at the door.
Matthew rose. “I’ll get it, Hannah!” he called, and went to the door.
Verity froze, her fork in midair, as she recognized the voice of the person Matthew had just ushered inside. Oh, no.
Then Matthew returned. “Since you invited guests to join us for Thanksgiving dinner, Mrs. Hardy, I felt free to do so, as well.” He stepped aside and there was Samuel, standing in her dining room.
The reaction was instant. Mrs. Ransford leaped to her feet. “I won’t tolerate an insult like this. I’m leaving.” She threw down her linen napkin. “Dacian, take me home.”
Dacian remained motionless. A raw, dangerous silence hovered over the holiday table. Verity’s heart pounded. Then Dacian said to Verity, “Ma’am, did you do this to insult us?”
Verity didn’t like his equating sitting with Samuel, a good man, with an insult. Maybe she had been foolish. What good could one meal do in face of such prejudice? She looked Dacian Ransford directly in the eye. “I invited thee because after our barn was burned, I felt I had to do something positive to end the violence. I was hoping that somehow at this meal I could start to reach out to this community, to soften not harden hearts. We’ve already discussed frankly why I came here, Dacian.”
The ugly silence in the room continued. Then Matthew broke it and said, sounding disgusted, “She’s an idealist, Dace. She can’t help herself—”
His voice was drowned out by Barney’s frantic barking just outside the dining-room window. Verity stiffened. What now?
Beth leaped up. “That’s Barney! Maybe those bad men who burned our barn came back!” The little girl raced from the room. “They might hurt Barney!”
“Beth! Wait!” Shock and caution pulsing through her veins, Verity jumped up, raci
ng after her daughter. “Beth!”
Outside the back door, Verity paused. Ahead still barking wildly, Barney was now running with Beth toward the cabin. Verity chased after Beth, aware that Matthew was right behind her, followed by Samuel and Dacian.
The cabin door was open. Verity burst inside to see Barney panting and whining near the bed. Beth stood beside him. “Mama, somebody hurt that boy Alec.” Beth’s voice was high and thin. “Mama, he’s bleeding.”
Verity’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Alec lay halfway on Matthew’s narrow bed. Blood dripped from his mouth onto the floor and both his eyes were swollen nearly shut.
“Mama, is the boy going to die?” Beth’s voice was shrill. “Mama?”
Verity went to her and pulled her close, her pulse leaping and stuttering. Dear Father, this poor boy. “No, we will make him better.” She turned to Matthew standing in the doorway. “Please, will you carry him to the house?” She could not hide the strain in her voice. She sounded as if she were tightening a stubborn screw. She felt like it. Oh, Lord, this cruelty is so hard to witness. What can I do to stop this suffering?
Verity pressed Beth’s back against her to make room for Matthew. He scooped the boy into his arms and headed for the main house. Within minutes, Verity was breathing hard and fighting back tears as she followed Matthew up the stairs. She looked back at Samuel, Dacian, Joseph and Beth standing in the hall at the foot of the stairs. She held back tears and tried to look calm. “Please go back in and eat. Beth, stay with your grandfather and entertain our guests.” She didn’t wait for a response.
Matt took Alec directly to Beth’s room. He waited for Verity to turn down the bedding, then he gently laid the boy on the canopied bed, wishing he could do more. He stood back as she examined the boy yet again, touching her hand to his forehead, pressing her ear against his thin chest to listen to his heart, and then moving his limbs. When she tried to move Alec’s right arm, he moaned. She very carefully moved her fingers around the elbow joint and then probed up and down the length of the arm. “He may have a break in his arm.”
Matt felt sickened at the sight of the boy’s battered face.
Hannah hustled into the room with a wash basin, rolled bandages and some small brown corked bottles of medicine. Samuel followed her with a kettle of hot water, steam still puffing from its spout. “How is that boy?” Hannah’s voice was soft, muted.
Verity turned. “Thank thee, Hannah and Samuel. That’s just what I need. I can handle this with Matthew’s assistance. Please go down and make sure our guests have everything they need. And please watch over Beth. Seeing this has upset her. She has bad memories—we nursed soldiers after Gettysburg. She has a soft heart.”
“Just like her mother,” Samuel said, and Matt silently echoed the sentiment. Matt’s chest tightened into a painful knot. He tried to imagine what a very little girl would recall of the noise of battle and bloodied wounded. The thought of Beth having to witness the horror of war was almost more than he could bear.
Verity smiled. “Thank thee both.”
Samuel and his mother left them. Matt hovered near Verity, ready to do whatever she needed. He watched her bathe the boy’s face and dab tincture of iodine on the many cuts. Alec seemed to be awake but unresponsive. He winced at the iodine but made no outcry. Matt’s thoughts turned to Mary. Was she safe or lying somewhere bruised and bleeding, too?
“Matthew, would thee undress Alec while I go get a nightshirt from Joseph’s room?”
“I got…to go home,” Alec finally whispered, wincing with pain at each word. “I just…came to get away. And you helped…me last time.”
Matt moved closer to the bed. Anger was replacing shock and gathering tight and hot in his gut.
“Thee will go home when thee is better,” Verity said in a no-nonsense tone.
“My ma,” the boy moaned. “She needs me.”
Verity gave Matt a significant look and left the room.
Matt reached to unbutton Alec’s threadbare, blood-spattered shirt. No one should have let sweet Mary McKay wed Orrin Dyke.
“Sir, please—”
Matt made his voice strong and sure. “Mr. Ransford is downstairs, Alec. He will make sure your ma is protected. Now lie still and don’t argue. You did right coming here.”
The boy passed out. Matt quickly undressed him and pulled the blanket over his bruised body. Verity entered with the nightshirt. “Will thee help me put it on him?”
Matt supported the boy’s neck and shoulders while Verity pulled the nightshirt over his head and arms. Her motions were efficient yet gentle and motherly. Watching her tend to Alec attracted him in a new, more powerful way. She might be an idealist, but when faced with dreadful reality, she knew how to handle it.
As he watched her hands move, he could almost feel her gentle touch soothing him also. After the nightshirt was on, she took a linen towel and fashioned a sling, which she tied around the boy’s right arm. Then she stepped back and looked up at Matt. “Something must be done for this child.”
He nodded, unable to speak because of the anger surging up like hot air from a bellows.
There was a knock at the door and Samuel stepped inside. “I’m going to sit with the boy while you two go down and eat.” He held up a hand. “My mother’s orders. Don’t think you can go against her. She wants you downstairs and me upstairs.”
Matt hesitated. He’d done right by inviting Samuel—and he’d done wrong. His reactions tangled inside him like a kite’s string caught in the branches of a tree.
Verity nodded and walked to the door. As she passed Samuel, she patted his arm. Matt followed her down to the dining room. She paused at the doorway. Looking over her shoulder, Matt glimpsed Joseph at the head of the table with the Ransfords to his right and Beth to his left. They were eating pumpkin pie and whipped cream. Matt’s mouth watered at the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon, but his stomach clenched at facing Dace and Lirit again.
“How is Alec, Mama?” Beth asked, her face drawn and worried.
Matt seated Verity at her place and then sat by her side, across from his cousin. Hannah bustled in and put down plates of food in front of Verity and him. “I put your plates in the oven so they kept warm.”
“Thank you, Hannah,” Verity said with a sigh.
Matt didn’t like how tired and worn down she sounded. But what could he do about that? What could he do for Alec? He picked up his fork and began eating, hardly tasting his food.
“How’s the boy, Mama?” Beth asked again.
Matt chewed slowly, waiting for Verity to answer.
“He’s resting,” Verity replied, her fork motionless in her hand. “Has thee finished eating?”
“Yes. Thank you. May I please be excused to go see Alec?” Beth asked, sitting on the edge of her chair.
“I think thee had better go out and play with Barney. He is moping around the back porch for thee. And after all, he must be rewarded for letting us know Alec needed our help.”
“You want me to go and play with Barney?” Beth asked, rising.
Verity nodded. Beth curtsied to the Ransfords and left the room.
Matt touched Verity’s arm. “Eat. Don’t let your food go cold. Hannah will have a fit.” Verity nodded, her lower lip trembling.
“Will someone please tell me what is going on in this crazy house?” Lirit demanded.
Matt waited for Verity to reply, but she merely began eating. He found he could contain himself no longer. “Orrin Dyke is abusing his son. We found Alec beaten in my cabin back by the barn. We brought him inside and Verity—Mrs. Hardy has treated his wounds.”
“Well, what can you expect from trash like Orrin Dyke,” Lirit said dismissively.
“Calling names doesn’t help the boy,” Dace said.
“The boy isn’t our responsibility,” Lirit snapped back.
Verity looked up and fixed Lirit with an unwavering stare. Lirit blushed finally and looked down at her plate. “Dace, I think it’s time you took
me home. It appears that Mrs. Hardy has other matters to attend to,” she said.
Dace gazed at his wife. “Very well. I’ll take you home, Lirit, but then I will return here.”
“Why?” Lirit pouted.
“Because I am still Dacian Ransford, and the welfare of Mary Dyke’s son is my concern. The Ransfords have always taken care of the people in this county. And may I remind you, you are a Ransford, too.”
The Ransfords had always taken care of the white people in this county, Matt silently amended.
Lirit rose in a huff. Matt had never liked Lirit much, and he liked her even less now. He recalled all the times when they were children and she’d ruined their fun with tears and tattling. Some people never changed.
Joseph said with gallantry, “If you will trust me with your lovely wife and team, Mr. Ransford, I’ll drive your lady home and then return with the carriage.”
“Thank you,” Dace said. “Lirit, I will be home as soon as matters here are concluded.” Face averted, Lirit swept from the room without thanking Verity for the meal. Joseph hurried to help her into her cape in the hall. Dace stared down at the remains of his pumpkin pie and cup of coffee.
Matt pitied his cousin, married to such a woman. Why had Dace married Lirit anyway? When I marry, I… He found he could not finish the thought, it startled him so.
When Joseph and Lirit had gone, Dace looked up. “What do you think we should do about this, Matt? I can confront Orrin, but—” Dace paused and then continued, sounding bitter. “I don’t have the clout I once had in this town. Money is power and I don’t have the money I once had.”
Caught up short, Matt could hardly believe his cousin had just admitted this.
“I think that thee still has thy position in the community. Thee still owns thy land,” Verity said.
“She’s right.” Matt added. “You’re still the Ransford. Your father’s family has been the most prominent in this county for over a hundred years.” The memory of Dace’s father fanned the flame smoldering inside Matt. Why hadn’t he weighed in on the side of Matt’s family? Then Matt chided himself. What has that got to do with the present, with Alec and Mary? This is about their horrible situation, not ancient history.